"Tibbs swung a knife at one of them and didn't get hit back. That's the part he should be thinking about."
"That's what I told him." Annie yawned, her jaw cracking with it, and her head came down against Mab's shoulder. The weight was slight, barely there, but Mab felt it like an anchor. "Mab?"
"Hmm?"
"Is he kind to you?"
Mab's hand found its way to Annie's hair, smoothing down a strand that had escaped the braid. The gesture was automatic, something Hester used to do. She hadn't realized she'd learned it until now.
"Yes," she said. "He is."
"Good." Annie's voice was getting slower, the words softening at the edges. "Drogga says once Varek decides something belongs to him, he'd burn down the world before he let it go."
Mab swallowed. "Drogga talks a lot."
"He does." Annie yawned. "I like him. He laughs with his whole body. You can feel it in the floor when he laughs."
Mab smiled. She could picture Drogga's massive frame shaking with mirth, the vibration traveling through stone and wood until everyone nearby felt it in their bones.
Annie's breathing was evening out, her weight growing heavier against Mab's side. The girl's eyes had drifted closed, lashes dark against cheeks that had lost the pinched look they'd carried since the raid.
"Annie," Mab said softly. "You should go to your room. Your bed."
"'M comfortable here." The words were slurred with sleep. "Just for a minute."
Mab didn't have the heart to move her. She shifted carefully, easing Annie down onto the pillows, and pulled the coverlet up over the girl's thin shoulders. Annie curled into the warmth without waking, one hand tucked beneath her cheek.
Mab sat on the edge of the bed and watched her sleep.
The orange peels still lay scattered on the sheets, their fragrance filling the room with something that didn't belong to this place. Something that belonged to the future instead. To hot springs and mountain gardens and children helping with harvests.
She was still sitting there when the door opened.
Varek filled the doorway, his shoulders nearly brushing both sides of the frame. His eyes found Mab first, then moved to the small figure curled beneath the coverlet.
"She brought my dinner," Mab said quietly. "And then she fell asleep."
Varek crossed the room. He didn't speak, just bent and gathered Annie into his arms like she weighed nothing. The girl stirred, made a small sound of protest, and then settled against his chest without waking.
"Drogga's in the corridor," Varek said, his voice pitched low. "He'll take her to the children's room."
He carried Annie to the door, transferred her to the waiting arms on the other side, and exchanged a few words Mab couldn't hear. Then the door closed, and they were alone.
Varek turned to face her.
He looked tired. Not the bone-deep exhaustion of battle, but the worn-down weariness of a man who had spent hours managing logistics and people and problems. His tunic was different from this morning, darker, and there was a smear of something that might have been ink on his forearm.
"You slept," he said.
"I did." Mab stood, suddenly aware of how she must look. The borrowed nightgown too tight, her hair still a disaster of tangles, orange juice drying sticky on her chin. "I didn't mean to sleep so long."
He crossed to her, and his hands were on her before she could think to step back. One at her hip, the other cupping her jaw, tilting her face up. "You needed it."
"You've been busy."
"Inventory. Manifests. Messages." His thumb traced her lower lip. "Dull work. I thought about you the whole time."
Mab's breath caught. "What did you think about?"
